Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

There are few things so pleasant as a picnic lunch eaten in perfect comfort.

— W. Somerset Maugham

V eronica gazed out over the creek banks where she and Edward sat on a quilt after their horseback ride as he bit into another piece of the fried chicken leftovers. Willamena and her kitchen assistant, Frances, under Mama's watchful eyes, had packed a feast for two into a large picnic basket. They had added a corked pottery jug of sweet tea to the meal. But the look of amazement on Veronica's face when she withdrew two long-stemmed goblets from the basket had made him hastily ask, "What's wrong?"

"This definitely isn't a normal picnic." Veronica's brow had furrowed. "We usually get tin cups, wooden plates, and mismatched odds and ends utensils in case anything is lost or broken. That is, unless the meal takes place closer to the house…or if it's for one of our horse competition events. On those occasions, our staff will dress up our tables in the garden or under a big tent."

"Nothing wrong with your mother trying to do something nice for you."

Veronica was still pondering that as Edward took another bite of the potato salad before returning to taste more of the chicken he held with his other hand.

"Your family has the best cook." Edward eyed the spread on the quilt as he finished his plate of food. "I think I'm ready for a slice of that sweet potato pie."

Veronica served the dessert and offered it to him on a small plate.

He reached for it, then dropped his hand. "Well, maybe after two more of those pickled beets and one more pickled egg."

Laughing at his hearty appetite, she took the plate back, added the pickled items, and handed it to him. As she did, a thought struck. "Maybe all of this isn't my father's doing at all. Maybe it is Mama's."

"You mean your father packed all of this?" Edward waved his fork over the spread.

Veronica giggled. "No, silly. If he'd packed it, we'd have a chunk of ham and a pocketknife. And no napkins or dishes."

Edward laughed so hard he had to set his pie down. When he finally recovered, she continued.

"I mean, I just realized maybe it's my mother influencing my father to arrange a marriage between us. I've been struggling to understand Pa's insistence on financial security. But Mama…she has always cared a little too much about what her New York and Baltimore society friends think."

An image of running into her mother in the hallway after her father first mentioned the arranged marriage returned to her mind. Had her mother eavesdropped on the discussion? Had it all been her idea in the first place? Hadn't she attempted to meddle and make matches a few other times when eager suitors appeared on the doorstep?

"I didn't realize she traveled in New York and Baltimore circles." Edward put his fork and plate aside, turning his attention fully toward her.

"She does, occasionally. Usually only during an out-of-state race when she might attend with my father. I've accompanied them for a few important races myself, but my mother maintains extensive friendships with some ladies back east. She receives letters in the mail from her friends and has visited some of them before, sometimes even with my sisters and me in tow."

"I see." Edward shifted his position. His brows furrowed. A pensive look appeared on his face, and he tilted his head. "I wonder if my mother and yours may know some of the same friends."

"Possibly so. In any case, I keep coming back to something my father mentioned when he said our marriage would secure my place in New York society. I didn't even know he cared about New York society, but I believe my mother does. Of course, like most fathers, he usually goes along with everything Mama wants, for the sake of peace in the household."

"Aha." Edward sliced into another bite of the pie with his fork as she picked up a piece of chicken. "The plot thickens."

"Yes, indeed." Veronica waved the piece of meat. "She probably gave him this whole cockamamie idea." She sighed, then caught herself and returned the chicken leg to her plate, untouched. She'd lost her appetite.

"Are you going to eat the last pickled egg?" Edward eyed said item with a raised brow.

"You can have it." She handed the egg to him. "What about your father? What are his motives?"

Edward finished the last bite of the egg as he held the dessert plate with his slice of the sweet potato pie. "Money. It's always about money with my father."

Veronica bit her lower lip and crossed her arms over her chest. "I am not a horse they can simply trade in some grand, old-fashioned, outdated dowry scheme."

"I hate to say it, but you're actually looking at that all wrong."

"What do you mean?"

Edward finished the pie and set his plate aside. "The higher the dowry, the more esteemed and valuable the woman. It signals the man in pursuit of her that she is beloved, highly sought after, to be protected…"

She inhaled a quick breath as she considered his statement. "I hadn't thought of it like that before."

The burble of running water in the swift creek provided an underlying soothing sound, nature's embrace relaxing her as his statement had. She let out her breath.

Their horses, tethered to an oak tree nearby, nibbled on the luscious blades of grass, content to look in their direction from time to time. Green leaves had returned to the trees in the thick wooded area on the other side of the water, and the rich soil along the banks contrasted nicely with the foliage. Wildflowers clumped along the tree line. Blue chicory and white bloodroot blossoms with their yellow stamens peeked up from the earth. Soon, summer lilies and daisies would bloom too.

She looked up into his face. "Is that how you think of me, Edward?" She had to know.

Edward scooted closer, resting his hand over hers. "Absolutely. Of course, I do. In truth, I'd like to spend far more time with you now that I've had a chance to get to know you better. I'd like to take you to New York and South Carolina to meet the rest of my family in our environment. But we'd have to be willing to become engaged because it's what my father expects. It's the arrangement our fathers have, and in matters like these, we'd have to show solidarity to their plan."

She looked down at his hand resting on hers. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were proposing marriage to me. Are you inviting me to come to New York as your fiancée, Edward James Beckett?"

"Yes, I think I am." He turned to gaze into her eyes. "You are the only woman I've met who has managed to capture my attention. I would maybe go as far as to say I think I'm falling in love with you, but you'd doubtless feel it was too soon for that. And then I might become discouraged. So I won't say I'm falling in love with you yet, but I think I could easily fall in love with you."

Veronica flushed and bit her lower lip. Her heartbeat had risen, flooding her with all kinds of emotion. "I must admit, I've enjoyed our time together more than I thought I would. I've grown quite fond of you, if I do say so myself, and I'll certainly think about all you've said, but please don't get your hopes up too high, Edward."

He smiled, and they abandoned conversation for the rest of the picnic, taking in the scenery and enjoying the warm sunshine. But Veronica's thoughts raced. After all her efforts to evade a match, was she considering his offer to come to Manhattan as his fiancée? Except for her reservations about leaving Kentucky and her desire to avoid having her heart broken the way Henry had broken it, he had slowly worn down all of her protests.

Did he genuinely find her valuable? She hadn't known him long enough to tell for certain, which was why the extra time together and chance to meet the women of his family might be needed. So far, he seemed like a man of not only integrity, but a man of his word.

A fter the picnic, Edward returned their horses to the barn. He'd wanted to admit the truth to Veronica—that he'd fallen for her. He had hopelessly fallen for her. He chided himself for not telling her so clearly. He'd hem-hawed about it instead, because as usual, talking to her about matters of love and marriage equated to holding a butterfly which might take flight in an instant.

He also chided himself for not bringing proper riding clothes to Kentucky. He'd packed a leisure bag with the items, but somehow, it hadn't made it onto the train. He needed to remedy that matter. After turning the reins over to Carter, he paused and rested his elbows on the top rail of the four-board fence outside of the barn to take in the view of horses grazing in the meadow.

He had wanted to kiss Veronica at the picnic, and he almost had, but she continued to speak so adamantly against marriage. Of course, he couldn't admit his discouragement. He adored her feisty personality—her beauty, her confidence.

He found himself falling fast for everything about her.

Sure, he liked fast cars, and she liked fast horses. She liked the countryside, and he liked the city, but he could picture himself in a place such as this, able to concentrate on his painting and artwork. He could certainly see why she was so happy here. He didn't see how he could convince her to travel to New York with him, and he had little hope she would accept his ridiculous proposal to come as his fiancée.

He sure had messed that opportunity up. He should have presented her with a diamond ring or something, though it was doubtful that would have worked either. At least he'd asked her to join him in New York. Maybe she'd think about it, but why did it seem as though he was headed straight for a broken heart? How could he turn the tide? Did he have any chance with her?

He spotted Joseph Lyndon walking across the lawn from the main house to join him and turned to greet him.

After reaching his side, Mr. Lyndon shook hands with him and patted him on the back. "Nice to see you, Edward. How are things going with you and Veronica?"

"I don't exactly know, sir."

Mr. Lyndon harrumphed. "If that isn't a classic answer in response to a question about a woman, I don't know what is. I don't know how things are going with Eleanor half the time, either, if it makes you feel any better."

Edward chuckled, but he didn't feel like chuckling. In fact, he felt downright baffled. He removed his hat and raked a hand through his hair. "I don't think Veronica will marry me, to be honest, sir. In fact, I don't think she'll marry anyone." Though Veronica had mentioned marrying for love, how could she ever surrender her heart with so many internal guards up? He stood at a crossroads in his relationship with her, but truly, something bigger than the reservations she had given him seemed to be blocking them from moving forward.

"Funny you'd say that. It's the same feeling Eleanor and I have had ever since… well, ever since Henry Sullivan broke her heart."

Edward stood up taller. He recognized the name—and recalled meeting the fellow at the Phoenix Stakes. "Yes, she mentioned him. It did sound like a situation that could have disturbed her more deeply than perhaps she cared to discuss with anyone."

Mr. Lyndon nodded. "She's fiercely loyal, and she's always had a bit of a stubborn and independent streak, but we think she suffered such a terrible break of the heart, she flat out decided not to ever try to love again. We're rather hoping you can help her past that, but it will take some patience, a whole lot of love, and maybe a great deal of persistence."

Could this truly be the answer? Edward blew out a breath. "It does make sense. Thank you for sharing this with me. I was ready to give up. I've been so baffled."

"Don't give up. She'll come around for the right person, and Eleanor and I happen to think that person is indeed you, especially after seeing the two of you together. We've never seen her let anyone as close to her heart as she has you, not in a long time. The way she looks at you…it's different than with the other fellas. We have faith in you, son."

"Thank you, sir. That's all I needed to know." He returned his hat to his head. "I had no idea, but now I must say, you've bolstered my courage. I won't give up yet."

"Staying for dinner?" Mr. Lyndon asked.

"Yes, and looking forward to it. Thank you, sir." Edward smiled, relieved to have a clue to the puzzle of Veronica. "One more thing—do you happen to have some extra riding clothes around here? I hate to admit it, but they didn't make it onto the train."

"Riding clothes? I'm sure we have plenty of spare riding clothes. Just tell Martin to find something for you, and Rupert, too, if needed."

Edward brightened. Things were looking up. "Thank you, sir."

He watched Mr. Lyndon continue on toward the horse barn. Maybe Edward could turn things around, after all. But would Veronica be able to trust him, and how long would it take him to prove his trustworthiness? And how exactly could he prove she could trust him not to break her heart?

V eronica pondered Edward's invitation to visit New York at the dinner table later that evening, remaining somewhat quiet and distracted. She had enjoyed her outings with him, and their time together would end in less than a week. She had grown fond of him and had to admit, she hated to think about him leaving, but he had an entirely different life waiting for him in Manhattan. And she had her life here at Velvet Brooks. Things would return to some semblance of normalcy when he left, and hopefully, her parents would forget about Edward. But would she ever forget the tall, dashing, and debonair gentleman who'd been so sweet and kind to her?

They left their families to finish their dessert and coffee at the dining room table, heading into the library to select books to read from the collection her parents had acquired over the years. Thaddeus Sullivan had also dined with the family, but after the meal, he joined Delia on the back porch swing, leaving Gladdie to entertain Rupert with a game of chess. The adults ended up in the sitting room, and Veronica reveled at having Edward to herself—another strange thought.

As Edward turned page after page in the book he'd selected by Thoreau, she found herself unable to concentrate on Charlotte Bront?'s words in the volume she held. Her mind wandered instead to what Edward had said during the picnic. Did she want to spend more time getting to know him? She had to admit, the trip to New York sounded fun, as well as the idea of meeting the rest of his family.

She could picture him showing her Manhattan on his days off, around the work for his father a few days a week and his artwork. However, she could not see herself leaving Velvet Brooks to live in New York. A city girl she was not and would never be, not for any serious length of time. Visits, perhaps, but to reside in New York, so far away from everything she held dear? No, she couldn't imagine it.

She glanced over at Edward, stealing a peek at him. He looked perfectly content at the moment. But wouldn't a husband expect her to live near his family? What if he expected her to live with his family? She blinked, shaking her head, and returned her attention to the book in her hands.

The next morning, they took a drive in the Runabout, her hair blowing in the wind as they sped along on the country roads surrounding the farm.

"Ready to try driving?" Edward pulled the Oldsmobile to the side of the road.

"I thought you'd never ask." When the automobile stopped, she gathered her skirts and practically leapt from the passenger side.

Edward traded places with her, and once he'd settled into the passenger seat, said, "Press the pedal there. There you go. You're a natural."

"I'm driving! I'm driving!" Veronica laughed as the car sped along.

"It's better to learn out here in the countryside. New York wouldn't be a good place to learn if you agree to come to the city and marry me."

She darted him a narrow-eyed glance. "Who said anything about me living in New York? I thought I'd made it clear I could never leave Velvet Brooks."

His mouth hung open, and he raked a hand through his hair. "I just assumed you would live in New York since my work is there."

Veronica didn't know what made her angrier—the thought of living in New York, the thought of leaving Velvet Brooks, or the topic of marrying him. Hadn't she debated this very thing with herself last night in the library? And yet, hearing him make this grand assumption about where they would live somehow seemed so much worse. It all made her so angry that as she stared at him, she steered his rented horseless carriage right into an enormous honeysuckle shrub, no less than a quarter mile from where she'd begun driving.

Veronica gasped and sat up in her seat, craning her neck to peer at the hood. "Oh no, have I done any damage?"

"It's all right," Edward said patiently, though the nose of his rental had completely disappeared into the branches of the bush. "No major harm done. It has reverse."

"We're on the edge of the Sullivan farm. They don't like trespassers. They might shoot at us."

"Not if we back up and get out of here."

"Right. How do I do that ?" Veronica burst into a fit of nervous giggles as Edward helped her shift the automobile into reverse. Meanwhile, two bumblebees began buzzing between the windshield and their faces. She tried to swat them away. "Oh dear, I'm allergic to bees." Looking up into the bush, she spotted a few more bees buzzing around, and her eyes widened. "Reverse, reverse!"

"Step on the clutch," Edward hollered.

As soon as she'd managed it, he shifted the gear. She mashed the pedal with all the force she could muster. The vehicle shot backward, jerking them three times.

"Brake, brake!" He reached out to help her steer the wheel, navigating them onto the road as she slammed her foot onto the brake pedal, jerking them again.

One of the bees landed beneath her right eyebrow, and a sharp prick made her jump. She screamed and cupped her hands over the sting. Somehow the automobile came to a complete stop in the middle of the road. Tears welled in her eyes.

"Are you all right?" Edward leaned toward her. "Did you get stung?"

"Yes, yes, I did. Maybe you should drive, Edward. I'm terribly allergic to bees. I might die. Truly. Do let's hurry."

His brows flew up. "I'll trade places with you. Stay where you are, and whatever you do, keep your foot on the brake."

She sniffed, holding her hand to her brow. "I don't understand what all of these pedals are for. I think I should stick with horseback riding."

"Fear not. It takes some practice. I had similar problems the first time I drove."

When Veronica took her foot off the pedal to allow Edward to take over behind the wheel, the automobile stalled. Had she damaged the engine for good? "Oh dear. I think I've broken it."

"It's all right," he said as she scooted over on the seat. In seconds, he had fired up the Runabout, turned them around, and sped them along toward Velvet Brooks.

Her brow area throbbed. Edward kept both hands on the wheel, but the frequent glances he sent her conveyed his concern.

"If I pass out, it's because of the bee sting." In fact, she had done so once before. "I'm not really the passing out type, except when it involves bees." She couldn't let him think of her as one of those damsel-in-distress types who needed perpetual rescuing.

He sped up a little more. "We're almost there. Keep taking deep breaths."

"Good idea." She gripped the edge of the seat as he took a sharp turn into the long, tree-lined drive and floored it up the lane. Before she could do as he suggested, everything faded to black and she slumped onto his shoulder.